


extra credit

by astroturfwars



Series: no wrong answer [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Clever Daichi is the best Daichi, Fluff, Kuroo clearly has his priorities sorted out, M/M, Morning Sex, also softcore porn if you don't squint, there's some softcore domesticity if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astroturfwars/pseuds/astroturfwars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo knows well what bad decisions look like--he's made his fair share of them, after all--and getting laid before work is not the worst decision he's made, not by a long shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	extra credit

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent fluffy morning sex. That's all there really is to it.

Morning lectures are ill-advised, emotionally draining, and patently ridiculous.

Kuroo can name at least three different philosophical theories from this month's lesson plans alone that would justify him sending a mass email to his class to tell them he's canceling class for the day--better yet, the week--so he could go back to sleep. Unfortunately, there are just as many theories that would tell him otherwise; it's those theories (not to mention the more immediately looming pressure of real-life responsibilities and consequences) that make him sit up and disengage himself from the bedcovers. 

It's seven a.m. on a Wednesday, and Kuroo is yawning, drowsy, and reluctant to leave the microcosm of his bed. He always is, but the urge to stay is stronger when Daichi is rolling over and pulling at his shirt, pulling him back, pulling him down for his first kiss of the day. 

"Good morning," Daichi says, pressing a second kiss to the edge of Kuroo's jaw. 

"For you, maybe." Another kiss, this one laid atop the flutter of Kuroo's pulse. " _I_ have work."

Daichi makes a dissenting noise and stretches, pressing them together briefly from shoulder to hip, and through Kuroo's mind streaks the reoccurring and unwise idea to say _fuck morning classes_ , slip back underneath the covers, and see if Daichi would object to being used as a pillow. 

But--contrary to evidence otherwise--Kuroo _does_ , in fact, want to keep his job, so he bites back a sigh, drags himself out of bed, and sets about getting ready for the day.

\--

When his apartment is dawn-quiet like this, it's easy for Kuroo to pick out each separate noise: if he pauses long enough as he's brushing his teeth he can hear the rustle of bedsheets and the open-and-shut slide of a drawer--odd, but nothing too extraordinary--and, a while later, the soft thud of nearing footsteps as Daichi pads into the bathroom and wraps his arms around Kuroo's waist from behind, pressing his face between Kuroo's shoulderblades. 

"Come back to bed," Daichi murmurs, voice muffled by the fabric of Kuroo's shirt. 

Kuroo chuckles. "I have to leave in half an hour," he says. "If I get back in bed with you I'll be late."

"Kuroo-san--" and _oh_ , that tone of voice is deceptively drowsy and definitely dangerous "--just for a few minutes."

And then--like Daichi can't coax Kuroo into compliance with words alone, like Kuroo doesn't already want to crawl back into bed and stay there for the foreseeable future--the hands on Kuroo's waist slip downwards, one on his belt and the other lower, cupping him loosely through his slacks. 

His body reacts enthusiastically--it always does where Daichi is concerned--and it's easy as anything for Daichi to touch him until he's half-hard and hot under the collar, shooting quick glances at his watch and wondering if he's got time for something, _anything_ , to take the edge off of the want building up under his skin. 

Twenty-five minutes. 

Kuroo knows well what bad decisions look like--he's made his fair share of them, after all--and getting laid before work is not the worst decision he's made, not by a long shot. 

He gives in, like he always does, like he probably always will; Daichi is waiting when Kuroo turns, face already tilted upwards, and Kuroo need only lean down to kiss him early-morning slow. 

\--

Daichi gives up his shirt--Kuroo's shirt, actually, and when did Kuroo get so used to seeing Daichi in his clothes, when did he decide that was something he wanted to see every day, _what the hell_ \--before they make it all the way back to the bedroom, and he's already hard by the time Kuroo lays him down on his-- _their_ \--bed, sighing when Kuroo palms him through his boxers. Kuroo figures the wet spot on the front of the fabric is a testament to the virility of youth and doesn't think much more of it; he tugs them off and tosses them aside so he can get his hands on Daichi's skin the way he sort of always itches to do as of late.

"Wish you would've gotten me back into bed before I got dressed," Kuroo tells him, dropping a biting kiss just under Daichi's jaw. 

He means for it to be cheeky (though he's a little serious, too), but Daichi looks sheepish as he snags a condom off the bedside table, tosses it to him, and says, ears pink, "Don't make a mess, then."

And Kuroo would take that as a challenge if he had an hour to spare, because making a mess of Daichi is his new favorite hobby, and he's _damn_ good at it, even if he does say so himself, but--

\--he rubs the sharp edge of the condom wrapper with his thumb, checks his watch. 

"We don't have time," Kuroo says, not without a hint of regret, because sex means prep and Kuroo never skimps on prep. He takes his time when he works Daichi open because he loves the way he can take Daichi apart with nothing more than three fingers, the way the well-timed curl-and-stroke of them can make Daichi lose the breath to say anything but Kuroo's name. 

But Kuroo doesn't have time to linger, so figures he can blow Daichi, leave him breathless and tangled in the sheets, go teach his morning class-- and here _teaching_ is synonymous with _spending two hours trying to think about anything other than fucking Daichi and failing miserably_ \--and swing back home on his lunch break for a proper roll in the hay. Sure, that would mean forgoing a decent meal, but that's something Kuroo's willing to give up if it means he can spend an hour with Daichi's mouth and hands and sweat on his skin.

He's not sure if his eagerness to get Daichi in bed speaks more to the state of his libido or his heart.

"Well," Daichi says, cutting through Kuroo's thoughts, and he's _grinning_ , wicked and lovely, when he takes Kuroo's hand and guides it between his legs. Kuroo raises an eyebrow and lets him, straightening out his fingers when Daichi tugs at them before pressing them up against himself--he's slick where Kuroo touches him, and Kuroo goes from ready to aching in a matter of seconds. 

"You've gotta be kidding me," Kuroo murmurs, voice choked around the triple-time beat of his heart somewhere up in his throat. 

"Nope."

"Is this.." Kuroo has to pause for a moment to collect himself, because Daichi takes two fingers easy, and when he gasps at a third it's like he's stolen the air right out of Kuroo's lungs. "...what you were doing while I was getting dressed?"

"Obviously," Daichi says, and pulls Kuroo down by his tie until there are scant centimeters between their mouths. He pauses, eyes flickering downwards to Kuroo's lips, before he bridges that inconsequential distance with a murmur. "Wouldn't want you to be late for class, now, would we?"

Kuroo sucks in a sharp breath, closes his eyes, hopes he won't set an embarrassing new record for least foreplay accomplished before coming in his pants.

"Twenty minutes," he concedes, and Daichi's eyes are gleaming. 

\--

The thing is: Daichi can be downright sly if he so chooses. Kuroo doesn't mind that at all; he likes that Daichi can keep him on his toes, likes that Daichi's much more clever than he lets on, likes what happens when Daichi lets himself be sharp. 

Today that slyness means Kuroo is still in bed approximately twenty-six minutes later, edging on being late for class and unable to find it in himself to care at all. And it's not that he doesn't know it's a bad idea to be late--it's just that Daichi's fingers are wound tight into his hair and his legs are locked around Kuroo's waist and Kuroo doesn't think he could leave if even he wanted to, even if he tried. 

But he doesn't want to, and he doesn't try; instead he consigns himself to being late and decides he might as well enjoy himself to the fullest while he's here. That means he presses Daichi into the mattress and sets a pace that makes Daichi clutch at his shoulders in earnest; it means he dips his head to leave a short sequence of pretty perishable marks just below Daichi's collarbone; it means he pulls back to appreciate the view and just sort of--stops.

It's probably the single most disgustingly romantic thought Kuroo's ever had, so he won't admit to it, won't ever voice it. But in the privacy of his own head he thinks that Daichi is breathtaking beneath him: eyes closed, lashes thick and dark against flushed cheeks, mouth curved in a smile and bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He looks as self-satisfied as the cat who got the cream, and it makes Kuroo want to call in sick, cancel his office hours, and free up his schedule of anything that isn't making Daichi come until he's sated and sleepy and sweet through and through. 

Sure, that's a bit of a pipedream, but he starts considering that plan of action in seriousness when Daichi arches into him, digs his heels into the small of Kuroo's back, and lets out a low moan. Kuroo recognizes the tone and the weight of it; he knows it means Daichi's close, knows it means his coherency will soon give way to the small sharp groans and half-choked curses that Kuroo collects like quick-lived keepsakes. 

And it does, because by now Kuroo knows how Daichi likes to be touched, how he likes to be held, how he likes to weave their fingers together and kiss, palm to palm and mouth to mouth, as Kuroo pushes him over the edge. 

Daichi's always a little quiet when he comes; he throws a net of soft little noises and catches Kuroo easy, drags him down with thready groans, anchors him with gossamer-thin whispers of his name. This morning Daichi is clinging and cloying in Kuroo's senses; this morning Kuroo is, briefly, _Tetsu_ , soft syllables twining themselves around his audial nerves and echoing down his spine. 

This morning Kuroo holds his breath when he comes, and Daichi's voice rises like heat in the stillness of the eight-a.m. air.

\--

"You're gonna be late," Daichi calls from the kitchen. Kuroo, who's standing at the bedroom mirror, trying to discern how closely he's toeing the line between sex hair and bed hair, turns to pin Daichi with his best _are you serious_ frown when he comes into the room. 

"And whose fault is that?" He asks, adjusting his tie. "D'you want me to go in to work smelling like sex or what?"

Daichi makes a strangled noise, tells him, "Don't just say that," and puts a thermos of what is presumably--hopefully--coffee down on the dresser in front of Kuroo on his way to the bathroom. "Why are you even still here?"

"You haven't kissed me off yet," Kuroo replies. His tone is light, but he's completely serious; the way Daichi huffs at him from the other room is just an added bonus.

But he _does_ have to get going, so he rounds the corner into the bathroom--just in time for Daichi to run directly into his chest, nose bumping into Kuroo's breastbone. Kuroo catches him by the waist purely out of instinct, looks down at him, and--

\--he's been here, months ago, with his hands on a pair of then-unfamiliar hips, pausing in the doorframe of his broom closet of an office and thinking that he couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to kiss someone so badly. 

That still holds true now, even with the taste of Daichi's mouth fresh on his tongue. 

Daichi wrinkles his nose and says something about how Kuroo's so damn bony everywhere, half playful and half reprimanding--and when he catches Kuroo staring, he frowns like he's got no idea of what he's doing to Kuroo right now, like he's got no idea of what he does to Kuroo _all the time_. And Kuroo wouldn't put it past Daichi (sharp, clever, somehow-still-mildly-oblivious Daichi) not to know that Kuroo feels for him what late winter feels for the oncoming spring, which is--okay, Kuroo is _so_ not going there. He's a philosophy professor, not a goddamn poet.

He leans down--because he can this time, because there's nothing stopping him--to press a kiss to the corner of Daichi's mouth, says, "I'll be home for lunch," and leaves his apartment before he can convince himself to call in sick.


End file.
